


Persiflage, Camouflage, and Just Plain Flage

by Zoya1416



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Domestic espionage, Gen, Origin Story, Spycraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He did make his living through a weird sort of loyalty. And, somewhere underneath the persiflage, camouflage, and just plain flage, he was high Vor of the highest.”</p><p>--Ivan commenting on Byerly Vorrutyer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persiflage, Camouflage, and Just Plain Flage

**Author's Note:**

> This is a missing scene from CVA, but doesn't contain any major spoilers. It's a prequel/companion fic to "House Cordonah's Town Clown."
> 
> The canon quotations from CVA are underlined:  
> _______  
> The rest is all my own.

“How does one become a spy?” Tej asked Byerly.

His dark brows flicked in amusement. “Thinking of applying?” 

________

He decided to humor her; she was his almost sister-in-law. He stretched out on the sofa in Ivan's Vorbarr Sultana flat, sinking another glass of Ivan's mimosas. It was a simple drink, but it had its subtleties, now ignored. The drink was heavy on champagne—good champagne, but Ivan had plopped the orange juice in first and then the champs. It made a mess that way. There were no subtleties such as Grand Marnier or orange bitters. Worst of all, the drink was barely cool. But it was alcohol, and that was all he needed now.

Debriefing, not to say scolding, by ImpSec and Lady Alys, had exhausted him. But he made an effort to keep his normal bantering mode.

“A portion of candidates are filtered in from the service side of things. Good people in their way, but let us say, afflicted with a certain uniformity of worldview.”  
_________ 

Lts. Vorstodgy, as he came to think of them, who could get to the bottom of any scandal involving service personnel, in many cases the sad tales of homosexual soldiers who'd been indiscreet enough to be blackmailed. The soldiers, always ready to block this exposure, did favors for their blackmailers—smuggled a few drugs on military ships, submitted to further blackmail—sometimes even enticing their bedmates to be indiscreet.

The Vorstodgys could identify these soldiers and report them further up ImpSec, but regarded those blackmailed with disdain. They maintained the service-wide abhorrence of, to them, aberrant personalities. Drugs likewise—they could identify scandals on jumpships, but at the cost of distancing themselves from addicts and addicted alike.  


"Some are purpose-recruited from the civilian side, generally for some special expertise.”  
______

This lot tended to be the ones who dealt with the types of industrial sabotage which could harm the military or the Imperium as a whole. Discovering Necklin-rod or jump-pilot implant damage was the holy grail of such a career. Mostly it was the discovery of shoddy goods being foisted off on the military or careless repairs of military materiel.  


“I came in by the third route, recruited piecemeal by a working Domestic Affairs agent. I had arrived in the capital at the age of not quite twenty, bent of going to hell as expeditiously as possible in my own callow fashion—meaning, as like to the other callow, ah, what Ivan and his ilk call 'town clown,' as I could manage. 

\-------

“It was not a very original period of my life. I won't say I fell in with bad company—I more hunted them down.”

_________

He rapidly found other high-Vor scions whose clans had no use for them. Third or fourth sons, daughters unclaimed in the marriage markets, those guilty of pilfering, or abusing servants, the chronically idle, and those with no ambition were the weak backbone of this set. Many of them were remittance-men—youths sent away from their home districts for immoral behavior or drinking problems too severe to be covered up.

Why should he aim any higher? His own father had disowned him because of an ugly rumor that he has misused the sister—when he was her strongest protector.

“I know you've been hurting her. Don't lie to me!” His father raised a hand to him.

Valeria pulled on their father's arm. “Don't Da! This is just ugly lies! Byerly isn't mean to me—he's a wonderful big brother.”

Their father had sneered down at her. “You're just protecting him from the consequences of his behavior. I'm sending you to your aunt's to avoid a scandal. Byerly, leave, get out of here. I don't want to see your fucking face again!”

When his father believed the rumor instead of him, he might as well have whipped him raw.  


In the High Vor social world, he gained a reputation for drink and drugs, often concocting spectacular layered drinks such as “Soletta Sunrise”—tequila, orange juice, and grenadine syrup, and “Sex with an Beaded Lizard”—raspberry liqueur, melon liqueur, sweet and sour mix, and Jagermeister. He programmed his handheld with the specific gravity of alcoholic drinks, and tried new combinations eagerly. 

He much preferred parties where he could chatter, gossip, tease, and draw shy people out. He was a good dancer who could instruct others laughingly and without embarrassing them. His voice was only fair, but he was excellent with the piano, and more than one time sang for his supper. Persiflage came natural to him, and he loved to banter. Hostesses happily invited him, knowing that his cheerful nature would stay pleasant even after drinks went around several times, and he would never cause a scene.

“But among all the bad apples in my chosen barrel was one who was...not.  
He used me for a few favors, found me satisfactory, assigned me more small tasks, then larger ones...”

\--------

The estimable so-called “Alyosha Vormalama” had picked him up before he'd been in the city six months. By had tracked down the meaning of this name and snorted, finding “one who helps people” and “gold.” Alyosha was a bit old for the Vorbarra Sultana scene, and after seven years they were beginning to be bored by him.

  
Alyosha had used him at first to deliver small packages to this or that to the right person, someone with a dodgy, or worse reputation. Drugs, usually—cocaine, of course, plus his own tobacco—weed blends, amyl nitrate poppers for the sex parties—slab, slice, big hammer to get totally blotto—and it was no business of By's customers how often he'd traded in drugs. As few times as possible, because the adrenaline rush he got in deals was always outweighed by fear of getting caught

He'd been instructed to ferret out any illegal activity in occasions he attended. He found quickly that illegal activities were so common as to be unremarkable. The raison d'-etre of the glittering, gaudily arrayed town clowns seemed to be spying on, blackmailing, bribing, or simply using each other.

Then Alyosha suggested By go to certain parties and listen to discussions, especially any which seemed disloyal to the Imperium.

For example, the Vordarian District had been loyal to the Imperium for a generation, officially, but there were still scattered knots of disaffected people who begrudged Gregor his power and had transmitted the grudge to their children.

Curiosity about his clan's notorious reputation was often enough for an entrance. He was plied with questions about his cousins Dono/Donna, Richars, Pierre, and for the older or more perverse, about his most repulsive relative, legendary and infamous Ges Vorrutyer. 

There was little that he could add about Ges' sordid affair with then-Lord Aral Vorkosigan. He'd never known the man. Everyone—everyone who mattered—knew that Ges had dragged the now-so-respectable-viceroy of Sergyar into the gutter. It had happened almost sixty years ago, and Ges had been dead for forty, but it was still fodder for seamy discussions when By appeared. The great general Piotr Vorkosigan's only son parading into Imperial parties with a leering Ges on his arm was a delicious image which would survive Vorkosigan's death as well as Ges's. 

Why Vorkosigan hadn't been discharged from the Imperial Military service for homosexual behavior was a mystery to him. Emperor Ezar and Count Piotr must have arranged this dispensation, but he had never found the reciprocal price paid for this. Maybe the fear of ImpSec itself had held generals to their bargain. 

The only thing he could have told the slavering guests was that he had once found sketches of Ges crumpled in a forgotten desk in the attic of Vorrutyer House. The sketches had been quite good nudes and they'd been carelessly initialed AVK. He'd burned them. Embarrassing the co-ruler of an planet didn't seem like a good career move.

These particular parties weren't very productive ones, but he relayed it all the same. 

“Then he tested me.”

__________

Byerly grimaced at this memory. He wasn't going to tell his fascinated audience this one.

Alyosha had called him into one of his offices—a bar some streets removed from the bright lights, but not quite a dive. There were a couple of pool tables, with quiet men looking down their cues and calling bunkers and trick shots. They'd become sharks later in the evening. The bar snacks were not yet dried out on the buffet.

The man laid out a proposal. A certain brother and sister who arranged sex parties were suspected of creating honey traps for a selection of their most distinguished guests. Also, a few soldiers who'd been to these illicit events were the recipients of supposedly random beatings on their ways home. Alyosha wanted him to discover the truth. Because of the nature of these parties, he would likely have to engage in sex with the rest.

“It probably will be with men as well as women, and in which roles I do not know. I do know that no one from their parties”— 

“Orgies, you mean,” he'd said bitterly, and Alyosha didn't deny it.

“No one has had to go to hospitals or emergency rooms.”

Was this the highest praise an orgy host could get? What kind of parties were these, anyway?

“Oh, thank you for that. I'm supposed to sully myself for you?”

“It's not like you haven't done this for your own pleasure.” The man purred, and gave By a knowing smirk. The hair rose on his arms. How did Alyosha know about—he must be spied on as well as spy. He looked around quickly at the bar patrons, afraid that a dozy drunk might have overheard them.

He almost said no. But he needed the money, and, to be fair, he had a great amount of curiosity, almost insatiable. How was an orgy organized? Who decided the partners? He had, indeed, been in a threesome before, with another man and a woman, and he was damned if he knew how Alyosha had found out. Three people had twelve limbs to arrange, and that was trouble enough. He had no idea how one could fit more people into such a puzzle.

It was the first time By had gotten naked in public, and as unpleasant as he feared it would be. But to his surprise, Alyosha was at the party also, covering for his awkwardness, making sure he wasn't attacked. The older man laughed and engaged in the activities as well, a hearty roisterer. He was heavier than some of the beautiful young people, but by god was he supple! He must be a fiend at yoga. By's body responded mechanically while he filed away Alyosha's performance. He filtered the laughter and boasting, coming away with the knowledge Alyosha wanted. It wasn't the sibling hosts directly, but a frequent guest, who arranged the further adventures. With relief he related this, and prayed he wouldn't be asked to repeat this performance.

Alyosha smiled and praised him. “You did well. Many men would have refused me outright, but you acceded to your curiosity.”

He said sourly. “I needed the money. Now that I'm a prostitute, are you going to send me out on street corners?”

Alyosha ignored this. “You obtained almost all the information; you missed one of the bully-boys but that's alright.”

Byerly was suddenly, furiously, aware of the truth. “You knew everything already. You didn't need to send me into that stew! Why did you come—were you that eager to see me naked?”

“You're right. It was a test. But I sent myself into it as well, to keep you safe and see whether they'd come up with more wrinkles.”

By was shaken and disgusted. “You're sick. You're disgusting! I'm never going to do anything for you again!”

“And then one day made me an offer which by that time, did not astonish me—though it illuminated many things in retrospect.”  


\--------

Alyosha gave him a grim smile. “How about doing it for the Imperium? I can give you a place in ImpSec. You're a natural for domestic surveillance."

Sometimes it still surprised him that he'd accepted the offer.

“I was cycled through a few ImpSec short courses, and the rest was apprenticeship. And, ah, more spontaneous learning experiences.” 

_________

Learning spycraft had been more fun that anything he'd ever done. It was terribly hard work, stretching his natural powers of observation into those of a professional. The methods varied from the ancient--trays with multiple objects presented for a few seconds--to the most modern teaching vids. 

He had been amazed at how much he could miss in a quick video—exciting foregrounds could mask so much—he did not see the man in the bear suit walking across the stage behind the dance troupe. 

How to listen carefully without appearing to do so, how to train all his senses to their limits, how to tolerate extremes of environment—it wasn't quite clear to him why he'd need to struggle with hiking around the Black Escarpment, but Alyosha said, “Ski parties,” and he'd had to deal with it. No hot tubs at the Black Escarpment, alas. 

The weapons training was not completely new to him. He'd learn to shoot pistols and rifles with his father, in better days...he pushed the memory down and his next round put five out of six shots right in the center of the target's chest. He aimed the pistol higher for the last, but missed the head. Not by much, though.

He thought he knew the High Vor scene well, but a quiet, plain looking woman with work-roughened hands sniffed at him and filled in details from her role as a cleaner. He'd probably never be asked to escort a sick debutante to the restroom for a untraceable pregnancy test, or to patch up a guest whose rough play had gone too far, but now he knew how to find help discreetly.

Fashion courses were a breeze and almost a cheat. He knew as many couturiers as his instructor (and owed bills to more than a few of them, as men of the town were supposed to do). He loved all the spy gadgetry—miniature recorders, tiny picks, small knives, discreet little weapons and other implements (even garotte wire, although he shuddered about this)—and how they could be secretly fit into a suit jacket, a billfold, or other accessories.

At the end of his training he was sent through a wormhole-jump-training course, and by luck he was one of those who tolerated wormhole-jumps easily. His stomach twisted and he vomited once as a reflex, then was absolutely fine. He could still have had a career if he hadn't been able to travel well off-planet, but this expanded his opportunities. 

  
“Spontaneous learning experiences” had included the simple—always be aware of his surroundings, making sure he wasn't the one getting followed. Get tickets on a moment's notice to a sold-out event in order to shadow a certain couple. Insinuate himself into a weekend country house party to see how stolen artifacts were transferred.

The more complex included facing physical dangers from assorted bullies, all ImpSec, appearing suddenly. It was remarkable how fast self-defense skills were learned under pressure. He suffered a number of stunner headaches until his reaction times improved. 

There was even an episode where Alyosha told him to acquire a document from a unused lightflier hanger, and he was met by guard dogs. It seemed ludicrously far away from what he'd expected from a domestic agent, and he objected. but Alyosha only laughed at him and sent him through the canine defense course. 

Ivan looked at By thoughtfully, and, it seemed, with more respect. “I had no idea it was like that. Guard dogs? Really?”

“Yes, and all for the good of the Imperium, remember?”  
  
Tej and Rish looked at each other at the end of his recital, and Tej said hesitantly, “Ivan Xav said you rat out your friends to ImpSec for money—he made it sound as if you only went to parties and drank all the time.”

“Thank you, Ivan, always so careful of my reputation.” He nodded in a forgiving manner.

“How?”—Tej started, but Byerly shrugged, and waved his hand. “Oh, but that's enough about work. How about something serious—Ivan, do you have any grenadine for these mimosas? Or fresh oranges? No? Let's see here—oh, good, you've got gin and vermouth, if we want to change things up next—and your champagne and orange juice are cold now. MUST be very cold, ladies. Now, do pay attention, my dears, this is quite important...” and he prattled on, quietly reassembling his persona as the complete town clown.


End file.
